Page 5 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

Tomas’ face falls. “No, she made it into Dae. I’m… I’m sorry, Trouble.”

Her mouth tightens, then she nods. “So, it’s not over, then.”

Xavier leans in, blocking her view of us. “We have a little more work to do. But we stick together, and it’ll be over before we know it.”

Ben runs his fingers through her hair as if the very acts of it settles something in him. “For now, let’s find a big bed and figure the rest out tomorrow.”

“That sounds perfect.”

She starts to sit up, the jacket slipping off her shoulders, then glances down, “So, guys, why am I naked?”

Chapter Two

The Cool Side of the Pillow

— Sunday —

I haven’t stopped smiling since we made it back to our room. My fingers keep seeking them out—just to feel the reassurance of their presence. Grayson is the only one still awake with me. The night took its toll on all of us, but I don’t feel tired. I feel renewed.

“Mmm, just five more minutes,” I whisper, nuzzling deeper into Grayson’s side. He chuckles softly, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my bare shoulder.

“You’ve been saying that for the past hour,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against my ear, sending a flight of butterflies through me. I love this vampire. I’m good at labeling feelings and what I feel for him is humbling in its purity and depth.

I groan playfully, burying my face against his chest and squeezing him tighter. “Can’t a girl just enjoy her pillow?”

“Is that what you’re doing?” Amusement colors his tone, and I grin, peeking up at him with one eye.

“Yup. You’re the cool side of the pillow—every girl’s dream.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Is that so?”

I wriggle closer, savoring the solid comfort of him. “Like a human-shaped ice pack. Perfect for hot summer nights.”

Grayson chuckles, his arm tightening around me. “You’re ridiculous.”

I snuggle in even closer, feeling his laughter vibrate through me. And then it hits me—the depth of what we have. Evenas the incomplete blood bond hums between us, laying bare every unspoken emotion, my wonder and gratitude reflect back to me, amplified tenfold. Each of his lifetimes seems to have deepened his appreciation for me—I’m a shallow stream beside the vastness of an endless ocean.

“But you love me anyway,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to his chest and fighting the sudden sting of tears. This soul-deep connection aches sometimes, a sweetness almost too much to bear.

He sighs contentedly, his fingers carding gently through my hair. “More than you know.”

I close my eyes, savoring the moment—the way Shadow is curled up in a blanket-burrito under Ben’s arm, and Tomas’ wolf yips softly in his sleep.

We’re safe. We’re together. Nothing will break us apart again.

Hiding my smile against Gray’s ribs, I revel in the comforting rhythm of his fingers winding a strand of my hair, letting it coil and fall, soothing me with each gentle motion.

Warm, humid air drifts in from the sea, a whisper sliding across my skin. I soak it all in—the quiet murmurs of sleep, the feeling of being surrounded by them. A little slice of heaven. A moment of peace that feels like it’s been a lifetime coming.But Lord, it was worth every bit of the fight.

“Come with me, Lover?” Grayson’s voice breaks the stillness softly, pulling me from my wool-gathering. He disentangles himself from the knot of sheets and limbs, offering his hand. There’s no hesitation—I take it, letting him pull me to my feet.

Lover. He’s never called me that before. It was the name Alexander whispered during those stolen moments in his dreams. Gratitude. Hope.Trepidation. A storm churns inside me. Does he remember me as I was then—the woman who loved him before time and circumstance twisted his fate?

I don’t exactly miss Alexander. Not really. Grayson is the fuller, more complete version of the same soul. Alexander was just a snapshot, a fragment of a grand design—a dream.

Grayson has been shaped by centuries, forged under the weight of his immortal life. He’s cautious, calculating, his edges honed by two thousand years of navigating a world that still sees him as a monster. And yes, he is a bit controlling—like a rooster in a henhouse.

But that whispered word feeds a spark of hope in my chest. Maybe a piece of Alexander still lingers within him, tempered by time. And to be honest, a bit more of Alexander’s enthusiastic, ego-stroking affection wouldn’t go amiss in the bedroom either.

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